A Dying Rose
by Canadianana
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. GerFra. For GoldCleaver's friend.
1. How Can A Rose Live Without Sunlight

It was an odd day for France. From the moment he got up, he felt a sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach,

as if something were going to go horribly wrong.

He skipped breakfast that day, the whole afternoon was hell, and France felt as irratable as a country could be.

To put it simply, it wasn't the best day of his life. To add to it, his boss threatened him that if he didn't pick

up his pace at work he was going to be replaced! So being cranky, groggy and depressed, France arrived back at

his home in the evening.

There, he sat on his back deck chugging bottles of wine and who-knows-what. His country was going to all chaos,

and he knew it. But what was he to do? The economy was so bad that he had to ask England for help. His only hope

was that the amount of rich tourists would double in a few months, however they have been less and less recently.

"Merde...merde MERDE!" He yelled, before breaking down and crying. He shivered in desperation, and nothing seemed

to make sense to him. Suddenly, he got up and stumbled into his bedroom. He dove into his bed and hid under the

covers. Rest seemed foreign to him at this point.

"Tomorrow..." he mutters. "Tomorrow i'll quit."

Meanwhile, Germany and Italy had returned from a bar. Italy refused to drink a single drop as he wanted to drive

Germany home. Despite Germany feeling proud of Italy's mature choices, he knew that he probably would be safer

driving home in the back of a cement truck. Nonetheless, Germany gave in as usual, and passed out on the way home.

Partially from his slight drunkenness, and partially from Italy being a sadist.

Upon arriving home, Italy somehow managed to drag Germay from the car into bed. That's when Italy got a phonecall.

"Ve? Who could be calling this late?" Wondered Italy out loud.

"Ciao?"

"Is this... Italy?" spoke a somber voice.

"S-si. Is this France?"

"Oui. Listen Italy. Write this down."

Italy was stucken as concerned.

"What do you want me to write down? You don't sound very good. Is everything okay?"

"Nevermind. S-sorry to bother you Italy. The next time you see Germany, just tell him merci, okay?"

"Wait! What's going on France?"

"Goodbye, Italy."

France hung up the phone.


	2. You Can't Breathe Without Air

Waking up, France realized his pillow was soaked with tears. That's when he remembered the night before. Sadly, he changed his

clothes for the last time ever.

"Allons-y."

Meanwhile, Germany had started to notice Italy acting oddly. He usually never woke up this early, and he wouldn't touch his breakfast.

"Italy." Germany said loudly, yet with concern. The Italian jumped, and began shaking.

"G-germany... I need to tell you something..." Italy nervously announced. "Fra-"

Italy paused.

"I couldn't tell you yesterday because you were passed out... and nobody would answer the phone... but France called and..." Italy stopped.

"What? Italy, what did he say?" Germany asked.

"I-I'm sorry Germany! I didn't know what to do!" Italy began tearing up. "I don't think he's okay. He seemed really sad...Germany.."

Nothing else was needed. Immediatly, Germany grabbed his coat and ran out the door, starting the ignition and racing to France's house.

France had arrived at work, and gave his boss a personal apology. This was it. He was quitting his job. Before his boss could convince

him otherwise, he hopped in his car and raced home.

In the darkness of his room on a stormy morning, France found his favourite pistol. He didn't even bother crying,

or thinking of his past. All he wanted was to get away from his miserable day to day life. Finally, he cleared all thoughts

from his head, placed the gun over his temple, and pulled the trigger.

Germany knew that he needed to get to France's house fast, but the morning traffic made it impossible. He knew what he had to do.

He swiftly jumped out from his vehicle and ran full speed towards his destination, hoping it would'nt be too late. The humidity from the

air clung to his shirt as water dripped off of his skin. At this point, the only thing fueling him was adrenaline.

A few minutes later, he could vaguely see his destination in the distance. His lungs were beginning to give out on him,

and his hangover had gotten even worse. He saw stars, and he barely had any energy left in him.

"I'm going to be too late." Germany sobbed.


End file.
